


a horse with no name

by Impernia



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: casually just gonna IRM Lenny again, lenny is Not the brothers' father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impernia/pseuds/Impernia
Summary: “Stop. Look. Here’s a new question - if you’re not his dad, despite having the man’s face and name, then who is?” They ask him.“The guy who sold those off.”The sunset stretches on. The light isn’t fading as fast as he’d expect, but it’s going from a golden sort of pink to something a little redder now, the shadows deep and thick on the ground.“Explain ,” Crossing says after silence stretches on just a bit too long.---Or, Lenny and Sandy have a long overdue conversation to clear up a misunderstanding about Lenny's identity.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	a horse with no name

The end of Season 11 has finally arrived. The Garages lost the finals, but they at least went down fighting, and Lenny would be a liar if he said he wasn’t proud of having a winning game to his name, even if it was only by technicality. That’s still something that’s _his_. It’s something he can remember fully and fondly. He didn’t have any memories of what it’s like to live outside of the Shadows until he was abruptly pulled out of them. He’s not got enough good memories yet.

He can hear the parade somewhere nearby; It’s close enough that the noise still carries over still air, but far off enough that he can’t really _hear_ anything. It’d been fun to spend a while there celebrating with the others, but after an hour or so it’d started getting to be a bit much. He knows better than to go closer to the Hellmouth, so he’d turned his back to it and walked out until the buildings stopped and the desert resumed. The Black Hole is slipping down out of sight, and it seems to be pulling up some of Sun2’s light and casting back across the ground as it goes. It leaves everything painted gold-pink. Or nearly everything, at least. The shadow that Sandoval Crossing leaves cuts across the ground like a knife, and as he notices it it feels like suddenly everybody else is a bit too far away for comfort.

“How about,” Crossing says slowly to him, “We try this conversation again, without our teams around?”

“Okay,” Lenny says, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Your boys-”  
  
“No. We’ve been over this. Not my boys,” Lenny shakes his head. “Not _mine_.”

Sandoval sighs, stepping towards him. Lenny looks down at the shadow they cast as it rises to cover his feet and sighs, sinking down to sit on the ground. Somewhere behind him the Hellmouth smells like something familiar, and his eyes drift back to the horizon ahead. Sandoval keeps approaching until they’re nearly within arms reach, and wordlessly sits down as well. Lenny licks his lips and tries to find the words he needs.

“They’re not my boys, Crossing. People keep telling me look at them, they’re your sons. Got your eyes, your jaw. Hair’s the same. They tell me to _look_ at them, but it doesn’t matter if I do or not. Looking like them doesn’t mean anything.” His hand reaches up and twists into his hair. “It’s not - you’re not getting it.”

“It’s about more than looking like them, that’s true.”

“No, that’s not, _no_. You’re not getting it.”

“Then explain it, Marijuana,” Crossing says. Lenny swears he can feel the weight of their gaze on the side of his head. “Make me get it.”

“They - I’m not his father. I don’t even know him. And even if I look like him, I’m still _not his dad_ , because it’s not based on looking like him.”

“Stop. Look. Here’s a new question - if you’re not his dad, despite having the man’s face and name, then who is?”

“The guy who sold those off.” 

The sunset stretches on. The light isn’t fading as fast as he’d expect, but it’s going from a golden sort of pink to something a little redder now, the shadows deep and thick on the ground.

“Explain ,” Crossing says after silence stretches on just a bit too long.

“Right. Yeah, uh. I didn’t - I was only made a while back, okay? The Shadows made time feel all weird. First thing I remember isn’t them, it’s... I remember changing. I remember watching my fans, my _players_ . I held them, moved things around. Grew more space to keep them better. I remember concrete, and steel, and- and _cameras,_ too. Posters and paint. People screaming and cheering. And then... Then I made something new, and I put part of myself into that something, and then I was done.”

The shadows and the silence stretch on between them.

“Have to admit,” Sandoval says slowly, chewing the words over. “Didn’t see that one coming. Part of the stadium, then?”

“‘S why I chose this name and not another one on offer. It’s similar. _Un-Re-Memorial_ , _Len-ee Marijuana_.”

“Again. Bought it?” Crossing prompts.

“Yeah, yeah. Bought a name and a face for myself off some guy.” Lenny nods, both hands settling into the sand in front of him. “Can’t remember his name - Jack or something, I think? Jeff? Didn’t really care. It was sometime in the postseason, I remember that much. All quiet. Easier to focus on little things like making something new. So I made it, and he showed up and I bought the name and face to finish it off, and then just...Took part of myself and put it in there, and then I was there.”

“So,” Sandoval says slowly, “When you’ve been saying that Randy isn’t _yours_ this whole time, it wasn’t a rejection, just... Too literal? Badly explained?”

“I didn’t buy the memories to go with the rest. I’ve never met him, Crossing. Him and Dominic could’ve been anyone to me. I’m not anybody to him. I’m not his father just because I got the parts second-hand. It’s not how that works. And then, well. I told people the truth, and they kept assuming it was some whole other thing that it isn’t.”

“The truth be that you’re not their father, but just happen to be wearing the man’s name and face. Because he sold them, apparently.”

“Exactly!”

“Which,” Sandoval says pointedly, “You’ve never actually told anybody else. So _they_ don’t know that, and think you just don’t care about them.”

“They’re not going to want a dressed-up stranger. And is it gonna really make them feel better to know that their father sold his name, his memories? If I’d have known who he was, I wouldn't have bought his.”

“It’s not exactly a weak resemblance to either of them. Didn’t you say you remember the players you’d seen?”

“Crossing, I was a building. A _lot_ of faces look like each other to me. I mean, I look like Mike, that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly _his_ dad.”

“....You don’t look a thing like Townsend, Lenny.”

“Look more like him than I do Randy,” he shrugs, gesturing loosely as he turns to look at Sandoval properly. “Randy’s got _horns,_ Sandoval. Mike and I got the same number of eyes, and they’re in the same place on both of us at least. Same hair colour. No horns.”

“Neither of you can stand up straight to save your lives,” they muse.

“Neither of us can _pitch_ to save our lives. Shame about that drain, though,” he sighs, eyes flicking over towards the ground for a moment. “Would’ve been me headed back if it wasn’t for that. I’m looking after him, sure, but I wasn’t planning on being away from myself this long. Would’ve had it the other way if I could.”

“Would’ve walked away, just like that?”

“I would’ve walked _back_ to myself, yeah. This is - this is what I’m _for_. Learning things from this perspective. But I gotta go back and explain it to me, or else I’m just getting bits from whatever I can learn from the imprints the people leave behind. If I don’t tell myself, I won’t get it. I’m still me, even if I’m not. I don’t know what you want me to be here, Crossing.”

“I just want you to tell those two kids so they aren’t left wondering.”

“They’re grown men, Sandoval.” 

“Grown men you should still talk to. That's not an excuse.”

“...Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah. I should. I will.”

The conversation slips away again. The air smells like home - like baked bread that’s caught a bit, and a mosh pit, and a little bit like the clay and sand of a pitchers mound. He misses the Garage when he’s away from it, even if it wanted him to have the ability to walk away like that. The Hellmouth can try all it likes, but it won’t have him that easily. The Big Garages’ foundations were sunk in Seattle, after all. Even here, even as himself, he was still the Garage first.

The last of the sunlight is slipping further away now, the shadows spreading further as the red-blue light fades and the night and starlight take over. The dark creeps up across them both and across the desert too, and somewhere behind them both the parade continues. Sandoval hasn’t left, though. They easily could. He doesn’t know why they're staying. He doesn’t know how to ask. It feels...Wrong somehow, like it’d break this fragile moment of _something_ they’ve spun between them. Doesn’t stop the need to act somehow from settling in his gut, of course.

He shifts slightly to the side, and something else inside him shifts in the other direction. Lenny Marijuana is still Lenny Marijuana, but now he's made of cement and steel, old gig flyers and spare parts. He is something held together with spit and shadow and tape.

“Hm." Sandy hums after a minute or two has passed. “Fair enough. It's a start. Put your face back on, Lennoval.”

"That's not my name," he says. Something clicks back into place anyway as he resumes being flesh and blood again. It feels a little bit like relief.

The two of them keep sitting there on the ground, facing out towards what used to be Moab. He can hear what sounds like music in the distance. He doesn’t recognise the song, but he’s willing to bet he knows who’s playing. There’s sand under his fingers, and it's starting to seep in under his clothes. It’s not exactly cool, but the heat of the day is slowly fading. It’s almost comfortable. 

The Beams are _absolutely_ going to find some way of heckling him over how long they've both been out here together. He doesn’t think he minds it as much this time, somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> You see I've been through the desert  
> On a horse with no name  
> It felt good to be out of the rain  
> In the desert, you can remember your name  
> 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain


End file.
